He Had It Coming
by EAdams
Summary: An abused Mrs. Wickham calls on her sisters for help. 2 parts
1. Chapter 1

Her once vibrant eyes looked in the mirror, barely recognizing herself. Her left eye was swollen and red, a purple bruise beginning to show. She placed a damp towel over the caked blood near her temple and rinsed it, watching the water in the basin swirl with red. She looked closely at the gaping slit on her cheek; she wondered if it would need stitches. She had no money for the doctor; she would have to stitch it herself. Maybe Margaret from next door would help her, but then the entire regiment would know about it. It was best to take care of it herself. She dampened her cracked lips with fresh water and drank slowly, letting the cool liquid soothe her nerves. She hadn't screamed this time. No, she'd learned long ago that screaming helped nothing and only left your throat sore afterward.

Ringing out the cloth, she dumped the dirty water out the window and refilled the basin. She rolled up her ragged sleeve to assess the damage. The dress was old and tired, and now it had fresh tears. It was likely beyond repair and she didn't know where she would get the money to buy fabric to make a new one. Perhaps she could cut the sleeves and rework it and soak the stains in salt to get the blood out. That had worked before. Then perhaps no one would notice.

She lowered her forearms into the bowl, wincing as the water hit her open skin. She carefully plucked out any pieces of remaining glass and cleansed the wounds left by the jagged bottle edges. Changing the water out once again, she washed her face and hands and changed into a clean dress. It had been part of her trousseau. Fingering the lace at the bodice she remembered how she had loved the pale pink concoction and how proud she had been; a new bride in a new dress with a handsome officer on her arm. What a stupid girl she had been! How silly and naïve!

Now, married nine long years, she knew better. Her raw, chapped fingers worked the buttons quickly and smoothed the worn fabric over her middle. It was terribly out of style but at least she was clean now. She tied a large kitchen apron over her dress and went to her sewing box. She found a pale yellow ribbon, the closest approximation she could find to her own skin color, and threaded it through the smallest needle in her basket. She went to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy, pouring a small amount into a tiny bowl. She thought about drinking some herself, but there would be hell to pay if her husband came home and the bottle had less than he remembered in it.

She drew the threaded needle through the brandy to sterilize it and dabbed some over her cut, hissing at the sting it made in her open wound. Taking a deep breath, she sat in front of the mirror and held her face as still as possible. She slowly lifted the needle and gingerly stabbed it though her own skin. She fought the urge to wince and pull away, knowing that if she sewed it crooked she would have a ridiculous looking scar and an even bigger one if she did not sew it at all. Her last shred of vanity was all that stood between her and fainting dead away on her dressing table. Slowly, she pulled the thread through, trying not to think about the tugging sensation she felt in her cheek. Carefully, she pulled it through the other side and repeated the motion, telling herself it was just a few more and then it would be over.

Finally, after five stitches, the cut was closed and she tied off the thread. Sighing with relief, she fought the urge to lie down and began her next task.

There was no paper to be had in the small apartment. She finally settled on the back of a receipt from the local tailor. Only half the front side was written on, it would do admirably for her purpose. She mended a pen and took out her last bottle of ink, praying there would be enough in the bottom to complete her letter. She planned what she would say in advance, knowing there would be no room for mistakes and no paper and ink to try again with.

Half an hour later, her letter complete, she put on her tattered bonnet and shawl and headed out into the bustling street. She quickly found the man she was looking for.

"Sgt. Wattley!"

"Mrs. Wickham! How are you this fine day?"

She curtseyed, careful to keep the left side of her face in shadow. "I am well, sir. I hear you are going home for a visit soon?"

"That's right, madam. I leave this afternoon as a matter of fact."

"How wonderful for you! I wonder, would you be so kind as to deliver a letter to my sister? I believe she lives quite near ."

He looked at the address on the letter and nodded. "Yes, it is but a few miles. I'd be happy to deliver your letter, Mrs. Wickham."

"Thank you, Sgt. Wattley. I am truly grateful."

He bowed and took his leave as she hurried back to her apartments before anyone saw her face. She didn't want to think about what would happen if George heard she had sent a letter to her sister without his approval.

She let herself back into her lodgings and went to the kitchen to begin preparing the evening meal. George was cross if there was nothing ready when he came home, at least on the days he actually came home. Once the sandwiches were prepared and the soup simmering, she went and sat on the couch listlessly. Her letter dispatched, there was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

"Mrs. Darcy."

"Yes, Henson?"

"This letter has just come for you."

"I thought the post had already come today."

"It has, ma'am. This was delivered by a young soldier on horseback. He said it was from your sister."

"Thank you, Henson. That will be all."

Elizabeth quickly escaped into her private study, shutting the door behind her. Sitting in front of the window, she tore the letter open.

_Dear Lizzy,_

_I hope this letter finds you and your family well. Thank you for the recent funds – as you can see, George purchased a new suit and seems very happy with it. He has been very attentive of late and I find myself quite worn out with his daily presence._

_I wish Mama and Papa were still alive – I long to visit Longbourn and see all my family again. I fear I dearly need a break from the dreadful weather here. Who would have thought spring in Newcastle would be so frightfully wet and muddy? My spirits have been quite low because of it. This led me to thinking about all the games you would play with us in the parlor on rainy days and I find myself longing for my resourceful, spirited sister again. You are the only one who always knew what to do in any situation. Father used to say you could talk your way out of a sunburn. I'm sure you would not let horrid weather get you down, but would find some way out of the melancholy. I'm afraid I have never had your imagination and feel quite trapped inside my little lodgings._

_I hope your reply comes quickly, I don't know how long I can endure this season without some relief._

_Your Sister,_

_Lydia_

Elizabeth read over the somewhat disjointed letter twice more, making sure what she was reading between the lines was actually what her sister was trying to tell her. Finally, assured she was right, she rang the bell.

"Please tell the stables I will be taking the coach to Newcastle first thing in the morning. Send Mrs. Reynolds to me and please ask Mrs. Bingley to come here as soon as possible. Thank you."

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Reynolds had her instructions for the next week and Mrs. Bingley was walking into the study.

"Lizzy, what is going on? I just heard Mrs. Reynolds say you were leaving in the morning."

"Read this, Jane." Elizabeth handed the letter to her and waited until she finished.

"Does she mean what I think she means?"

"I'm sure she does. I'll be leaving at first light. Will you come with me?"

"Of course I will. Lydia is my sister too and sisters must help each other. What do you plan to do?"

Elizabeth quickly laid out her plan and the sisters went upstairs to pack and inform the nannies and children of their departure.

* * *

Lydia rose off the couch slowly, wondering who was at the door. George wasn't due home for several hours yet and she didn't want Margaret to see her like this and spread gossip. Quietly, she tiptoed to the front window and looked out into the street. There, she saw a large carriage with the Darcy crest emblazoned on the side. Thank God! She came!

Lydia moved to the door quickly and undid the latch, swinging it wide to reveal her sisters' anxious faces.

"Jane! Lizzy!"

"Lydia!" They cried in unison.

The three of them fell upon each other, kissing and embracing, disbelieving they were seeing each other after all this time. Finally, Lydia latched the door behind them and took them to the sitting room.

"Please sit down. You must be tired form your journey."

"Oh, it wasn't too bad. The weather was fine and the roads were clear. We checked into the inn before we arrived here. We'll be at the Lion's Head," Jane told her.

"Good, good. I wish I could put you up here, but as you can see, we are in rather small accommodations these days."

Elizabeth remained silent, looking at the bruise that was beginning to fade on Lydia's eye and the stitches in her cheek. So it was as bad as she thought. She shuddered to think about what was concealed under Lydia's gown. After a few moments, Jane excused herself and Elizabeth took the opportunity to share information with Lydia.

"Lydia, I showed Jane your letter and brought her with me. We're here to help you."

"So you understood my letter?" Elizabeth nodded. "Oh thank God!"

"We may not have much time to converse. When do you expect Wickham back?"

"Not till this evening. By then he'll have heard that you're here. My neighbor keeps constant watch out her window and will have spread the word half way through town by now."

"Very well. We will tell him that we stopped for a few days to see you on our way back from Scarborough where we were visiting Jane's aunt. "

"Thank you Lizzy. I knew you would think of something."

"Now Lydia, you must tell me everything so I know best how to help you. Let us speak quickly before Wickham returns. How long has this been going on?" Elizabeth pointed to her scar.

Jane returned and sat next to Lydia, placing a comforting arm about her shoulders.

"Well, in the beginning, everything was fine. At least it seemed to be. George got settled into his new commission and we took lodgings nearby. For a few months everything was idyllic, but then George began staying out late nearly every night with the other officers and coming home completely drunk. About a year after we wed I realized I was with child. I told George and he didn't seem very pleased about it. I thought he just didn't want me to lose my figure." She gave a rueful laugh. "One night, he was exceedingly drunk and fell on the stairs on his way up. He called out for me to come and help him. I got him to the top and said something about him cutting back on drink. He got angry with me and said I had no right to tell him how to behave or what to drink - then he shoved me. I tumbled all the way down the stairs and in the morning I knew I had miscarried my baby."

"Oh, Lydia! I am so sorry!" Jane comforted her sister as best she could, holding her and rubbing her arm.

"He had never been violent with me before that, so I believed me when he said it was an accident. He seemed so sorry and was so guilty about the baby. I believed him." She paused and breathed slowly for a while, collecting herself and organizing her thoughts.

"After that it started getting worse. It came on so slowly, it's only looking back on it that I realize what was really happening. He would get drunk and come home and if something wasn't as he wanted it, he would get angry and hit me. He would always be sorry in the morning and say it wasn't him, it was the drink. And he would get mad about the strangest things. One day it was that I had not worn the nightgown he wanted me to wear. He said how was I to entice him if I insisted on wearing these frumpy old gowns. A few weeks later, it was that the fire had died down and he was cold. I should have ensured that it was kept ablaze all night for him." She breathed raggedly and shook her head.

"Go on, Lydia."

"After a while, he stopped apologizing altogether and his foul moods lasted long past the nights. He would be sweet and jovial one minute, then cruel and demanding the next. I never knew what to expect with him. He was spending all our money on drink. That was when I wrote to you asking for funds. We moved lodgings for the second time and had bills to settle. Of course there was no money for it. George suggested I write to the two of you, especially you Lizzy. He was so angry at Mr. Darcy. He would always say how Darcy had everything and he had nothing. He also suggested I apply to Jane for money. He said Mr. Bingley was so affable, you would never refuse me. I am sorry sisters."

"It's alright, Lydia. It's all in the past now. Go on with your story."

"A few years later, I was again with child. I decided not to tell George about it. I was afraid of him by this point. He was checking all my correspondence and knew every letter that came or went. When you offered to send the carriage for me Lizzy, to attend little Richard's christening, he took the money from the parcel and put the letter in his bureau. I never saw it until the christening was long past. I would have liked to have been there, but George would have never let me go." Elizabeth squeezed her hand sympathetically. "He had dismissed our cook the year before to free up the money for himself. Then he let the maid go, saying I had nothing else to do all day, it would be quite easy for me to keep up with the cooking and the cleaning. At least I still had a laundress coming twice a month. I was working hard and was very ill with my confinement, I could hardly keep anything down. I began to lose weight and became very weak. George came home one day and found me in bed. He cursed and shouted and finally realized I had a mild fever when the neighbor came over with a compress and tonic for me. He refused to call the doctor or even the apothecary. He said we lacked the funds and that I was young and strong, I would come through it alright."

She looked into her sisters' eyes, an odd look on her face. "You know, I think he hoped I would die. Then he would be free to do as he pleased once again. But he did not get his wish. Of course the child did not survive the illness. At the time, I was sad, I dearly wanted a child of my own. We had been married more than five years by then and some of the older wives would look at me with such pity, like they felt so sorry for me in my barren state. Others were quite smug about it. If they only knew the truth." She laughed bitterly. "I took steps to prevent further pregnancies. I was afraid my body couldn't take it and frightened of what George would do to me. Alas, last year I became with child again. I didn't tell George until I was in my fifth month. He only looked at me when he was drunk, so he might not have noticed for a while yet anyway."

She pulled a tattered handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed lightly at her eyes. It was not lost on her sisters that this was the first display of true emotion she had shown since she'd begun her sad tale. "I carried the baby for seven months. One night George came home well in his cups and soaking wet from the storm outside. It was high summer and there was no fire lit in the grate for him to dry by. He began screaming for me to come and light the fire. I told him we had no wood - what little we had had to be saved for the stove to cook by. He didn't like my answer and struck me, hard, across my face. I fell and hit my head on the mantle. I do not remember what happened after that. I was unconscious for some time and when I awoke and tried to rise, I began to retch. I lost all the contents of my stomach and then some. That made my labor pains begin. It was too early for the babe to come, but we couldn't stop the pains. The midwife came and delivered her. She was so small and white, with the pinkest little lips. But she was early and much too small. She struggled to breathe and fought through the night, but when the morning came, she was gone."

Jane embraced her tightly, rubbing her back in a circular motion. "Oh, my sweet Lydia." She rocked her quietly for a few minutes, making a shushing sound and stroking her hair like a small child. Eventually, Lydia calmed enough to speak.

"After that, I found I didn't care much what happened anymore. I began hoping he would just kill me and get it over with. I had tried to send a letter to Papa when he was still alive, but George found it before I sent it and burned it. He kept all the money so I could never leave on my own; he even kept the household money, not that there was much. When a letter came for me, he would read it first, then he read it aloud to me. He would laugh at your questions after my happiness, Lizzy, and he would take perverse pleasure in laughing at how my whole family believed me to be attending balls every week and shopping every day. He would sit over me and dictate my responses. There was never any money to post a letter myself, and the man who worked at the post was told not to send any letter I might give him. Apparently he played cards with George or something. I learned that when I tried to post a letter to Kitty. He simply handed it back to me and said I should send it with my husband later. Though he needn't have bothered. When my supply of ink and paper ran out, George refused to buy more.

"A few months ago, I realized I wasn't going to die and would spend the rest of my life next to this horrid man. That's when I began to plan. There was an officer newly come who hailed from Derbyshire. I attended a tea where he was present and befriended him. I made sure to be kind to him each time I saw him in town, knowing he had to go home sometime. I heard last week that he was to head to Derbyshire soon, and that's when I wrote you the letter, Lizzy. You were always so clever, I knew you must have suspected something was going on. We haven't seen anyone in nine years. I wasn't even allowed to attend mama's funeral."

"Yes, I could tell by your letters that you were not the one writing them, but I did not know what to do about it or what was truly going on. I'm sorry I haven't come for you sooner, Lyddie."

"It's alright Lizzy. You tried to warn me about Wickham. I wouldn't listen. And now I am paying for my folly."

"Can you leave with us? Do you think he will come after you?" Jane asked.

"Truly, I do not know. If he did come after me, it would not be because he wants his wife back. But he would miss the money I receive from my family. That might be enough for him to chase me down. Especially if I was with Lizzy. Sometimes I think he would do anything to spite Mr. Darcy. I'm sorry Lizzy, but it's true."

Elizabeth nodded silently.

"What if you were to stay with me? Charles would be happy to have you and the children would love to meet their aunt. We are close to Pemberley, you would be able to see both of us regularly. Even Kitty is not too far, only fifty miles away. What say you?"

"It sounds lovely Jane, but I fear I would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to come and get me. Legally, I belong to him now. And since he has never beat me with a stick wider than his thumb, there is nothing I can do to quell his behavior. I am completely at his mercy."

Jane looked at her sister sadly, but was at a loss as to what she could do to help. Finally, Elizabeth spoke.

"You are right, Lydia. You are completely in Wickham's power. He would never divorce you, if only to spite my husband, and even that could take years and would likely cost more than he has. You are still young Lydia, only four and twenty. You might yet remarry and have children of your own." Lydia looked at her sister with an odd light in her eye as Jane looked back and forth between them, feeling she was somehow missing something. "I'm afraid there is only one solution here."

Lydia leaned forward expectantly while Jane grew more confused. "George Wickham must die."

Jane gasped as Lydia smiled her first real smile that day. "I was hoping you would say that, Lizzy."

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

"I don't see why not. Now Jane, Wickham will never believe that I bought him a bottle of brandy, so you must say it's from you. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, Lizzy." Elizabeth looked at her sister skeptically. "I don't like it, but I see that it's necessary to save Lydia, so I am willing to do my part. Do not doubt me, sister."

"Alright. I believe you, Jane."

"So what is the plan?" Lydia asked.

"I have brought you a bottle of wine and Jane has brought a bottle of brandy for Wickham. This evening when he comes home, Lydia tells him that we are here and staying at the inn. We have invited you to dine with us there." Lydia nodded. "We'll eat and talk normally at first, then after the meal, Jane will give Wickham the bottle of brandy. We must insist that he drink some then. Say you want him to taste it or something, alright Jane?" Jane nodded her assent. "If he follows his usual pattern, he'll drink half the bottle tonight."

"That sounds about right," Lydia replied.

"Now, these herbs are very strong. I've crushed up several times the normal dose. The apothecary told me that too much could kill a man and to be especially careful with it."

"How do you know about this Lizzy?" asked Jane.

"Shortly after I moved to Pemberley, I became ill. I had a terrible headache and wanted to make myself an herbal remedy that I used to take at Longbourn. Apparently, there is a plant that looks very similar to the one I was looking for, but it only grows in northern climates. I made the tea and became quite ill. Poor Fitzwilliam was beside himself. The apothecary came and told me that I had gotten the wrong plant by mistake. It caused nausea, sleepiness, and memory loss. A little more would cause you to become unconscious. A lot more would kill you. I was much more careful after that, but I never forgot the herb."

"How will we get Wickham to drink it? Will he not notice the flavor?"

"It has a very mild flavor and if he were drunk enough, I don't think he'd notice it."

"So we need to keep him drinking throughout the meal," Lydia said. "That shouldn't be too hard."

"Exactly. Once he opens the bottle of brandy, he'll have a drink or two without the herb. I have crushed it and made a sort of tea out of it and will mix it with the brandy when his attention is elsewhere. By that point, he should be well in his cups and not even realize what he is drinking."

"How will you get it in the bottle without him noticing? And what do we do afterward?"

"That's where we have to work together. Lydia, you know him best. Once you think he has had enough not to notice what he's drinking, discreetly give me a signal. I will take the bottle to the other side of the room and add the tea. We must all be careful not to partake of any of it ourselves and to keep Wickham drinking as much as possible. I've made a lot and the dose should be very strong, but I am not an apothecary and I do not know the exact amount required."

"So just give him as much as possible and hope for the best?" Jane asked.

"Well, not exactly. The apothecary did tell me all those years ago that I had drunk about half of what I would need to become unconscious and that twice that amount would have likely taken my life. I've taken into account that Wickham is a man and much larger than me, and adjusted the does accordingly. I can only hope it's enough."

"What do we do after? George will pass out and then what? How long will it take?" Lydia asked.

"He might pass out from the drink before the herbs even take effect. I imagine the doctor will think he drunk himself to death. It is common enough and I doubt anyone will make a particular fuss. He has no family besides Lydia and you will not demand an investigation, will you, Lydia?"

She released a rather unladylike snort and guffawed. "Not hardly."

Jane and Elizabeth smiled at this sign of the old Lydia coming back to them.

"I think if we keep him with us long enough, we can have him drinking well into the night. I will tell the staff at the inn that we will leave at first light. Lydia, you must send round notes to all your acquaintances telling them you will be leaving first thing tomorrow for an extended stay with your sisters who stopped by unexpectedly to see you. Jane and I can help you pack now. When Wickham looks like he is about to fall asleep, we will simply leave him on the sofa in the sitting room. If it's late enough, we can go ahead and have our breakfast and be on our way. If not, Lydia you may stay with us at the inn until dawn and we will all leave from there. I will simply tell the innkeeper on the way out that my brother-in-law unfortunately fell asleep in their sitting room and that as soon as he awakens, he will be on his way. A few extra coins should make up for their trouble. By then he will be dead and we will be on our way home."

"Lizzy, how can you be so calm? You're level-headedness astounds me."

"This is our sister, Jane. I would do the same for you and I know you would do it for me as well. It is distasteful, but needs must. Now, shall we get packing?"

The three women held each other in a tight embrace, then began gathering Lydia's few possessions in preparation for her journey on the morrow. Jane provided her with paper and ink and Lydia sent round notes to all her neighbors, friends, and every officer's wife she'd had the occasion to meet. She wrote a letter to her landlord including the last month's rent, saying she wished for everything to be in order financially before her trip, since she did not know when she would be back. She did the same with the laundress, the baker, grocer and butcher. Jane happily provided the funds she needed so that Lydia might leave with what little dignity she had remaining.

Finally, Lydia's trunk was packed and loaded onto the carriage. Elizabeth and Jane departed for the inn and Lydia prepared herself for the evening to come. She dressed carefully, putting on her best dress and paying special attention to her hair. She tidied her rooms and gave one last look around the place that had been her home for the last three years. She felt nothing but relief to be leaving.

Later that night, the Wickhams arrived at the inn for dinner. They were shown into a private sitting room upstairs that had been reserved for the night.

Wickham greeted Jane and Elizabeth with all the false charm they remembered of him, but without his youthful good looks it did not have the desired effect. Elizabeth felt herself cringing when she thought about how she had once defended this degenerate to her husband. As if the two could even be compared. She sighed and set about her task.

"Mr. Wickham, it has been an age."

"Mrs. Darcy, how lovely to see you again. Time has been kind to you, I see. Lydia tells me you have three children now?"

She smiled tightly. "Four, actually."

"Ah, yes. Motherhood has only improved you, I think." He leered lecherously at her bosom.

"Thank you. And how is the army treating you?"

"Grand! Couldn't be better!"

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and smiled insincerely before leading everyone to the table where a maid had just laid out dinner.

As the meal progressed, Wickham continued to lavish false charm on Jane and Elizabeth, likely hoping to remain in their good graces in order to continue to receive their financial assistance.

Finally, the meal was at an end and there was a lull before the dessert was brought in. Lydia kept a close eye on Wickham, who had finished a little over half a bottle of wine so far. She nodded to Jane who fetched the brandy and presented it to Wickham.

"Ah, dear sister, how kind of you to think of me!" He took her hand before she could pull it away and kissed it too slowly for her taste. Jane worked to conceal her disgust at the wet feeling he left behind on her skin.

"Mr. Bingley favors this particular vintage. We thought you might like it. Please, try some."

Not needing to be told twice, Wickham opened the bottle and poured himself a generous portion. Shortly after, the maid re-entered with dessert. While he was distracted with the pudding, Jane refilled his now empty glass and passed the bottle off to Elizabeth. She quickly walked to the corner near a small table, keeping the brandy bottle hidden in her full skirts. She picked up the vase that she had previously filled with the herbal tea blend and placed the brandy bottle on the table. Just before she poured, a hand reached out to stay her.

"No, Lizzy."

"Lydia! What do you mean no? We decided this was the only way. I thought this was what you wanted!"

"It is, but I should be the one to do it. You've done enough, sister. This is my battle. Let me fight it."

Her eyes never left Elizabeth's as she took the vase from her hand. Elizabeth stood behind her and made sure Wickham couldn't see her hands if he were to look their way. She needn't have bothered. His eyes were glued to the neckline of Jane's gown. When he began to look up, she leaned forward just enough to keep his attention, much to Elizabeth's surprise. Who knew Jane had it in her?

Lydia turned back around and nodded to Elizabeth. She made her way back to the table and surreptitiously picked up Wickham's glass. She filled it to the rim with the poisoned brandy and sat down next to her sister.

For the next hour, all three women conspired to keep his glass full. Lydia stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders, endeavoring to keep him relaxed and his mind on the female company. Jane and Elizabeth giggled and flirted, occasionally rolling their eyes when his attention was diverted, which was not often. Although the activity itself was not enjoyable, every swallow he took of the tainted liquid encouraged the sisters to continue in their ruse. Every joke he made was laughed at; every opinion deferred to. Jane leaned forward and bared her ample cleavage, flashing her perfect smile at every opportunity. Elizabeth had lowered the shoulder on her gown and batted her eyelashes liberally, giving her effervescent personality free rein.

Several hours later, the bottle of brandy was empty and Wickham was passed out on the sofa in the sitting room. Elizabeth and Jane wasted no time in packing the remainder of their belongings and instructing the footman to load them on the carriage. The sisters sat together in the bedroom for another hour, waiting for the sun to rise so they could leave without suspicion. Once they were dressed in traveling clothes and had settled the bill with the owner, they headed outside to the carriage. Before getting in, Lydia approached the landlord.

"I'm sorry, sir, but my husband drank rather heavily last night and decided to sleep on the sofa in the sitting room of my sisters' suite. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience this must be for you, but would you mind terribly waking him in an hour or two and sending him home? We tried to wake him before we left, but he could not be roused."

"It' s no problem, Mrs. Wickham. We'll see he gets home safely."

She smiled kindly at the innkeeper and handed him a few coins for his trouble. She turned to get into the carriage, but just before the footman handed her in, she stopped.

"Sisters, I'll be just another moment."

Lydia hurried back to the inn and swiftly made her way upstairs and into the suite where Wickham lay prone on the small sofa. She looked at his once-handsome countenance and with a deep breath, she reached out and slapped his face with all her strength. Tears pricking her eyes and hands trembling, she leaned over and kissed his cold forehead.

"Goodbye, George," she whispered.

She quickly ran downstairs and got into the carriage without a word. When they reached the outskirts of town, she said quietly, "It worked. He's dead."

Jane took her hand and Elizabeth reached across the carriage to put a hand on her knee. They rode the rest of the day in silence.

* * *

Three days later, the Darcys stood waving the Bingley family and Lydia off as they headed down the drive. Walking toward the garden, Mr. Darcy turned toward his wife.

"Elizabeth, do you want to tell me why Lydia was here _now_, after all these years, and why she looked like she'd been thrown from a horse?"

Elizabeth looked down, unsure of how or what to tell her husband.

"And perhaps you can explain this." He held up a letter. "I received a letter this morning from Newcastle. An innkeeper there remembered the crest on one of our carriages and a maid overheard the word Pemberley and decided to try their luck with us. Apparently, George Wickham was found dead in a sitting room in their inn, having drunk himself to death. Wickham's fellow officers informed him that Mrs. Wickham had just left for an extended visit to her sister's. The innkeeper took it upon himself to inform us. He writes that Wickham was due to be buried in the churchyard Wednesday morning and that they had found enough money in his pockets to cover the cost of the funeral. Singular, is it not?"

"Yes, quite," she said quietly, looking away from him.

"Lizzy?" he said, his voice tinged with suspicion and disbelief, and a tiny bit of hope that it wasn't as bad as he thought it was. She knew this tone well.

"Oh, Will! It was horrible!" she cried, bursting into tears as she fell into his arms.

"There, there, dearest. Shhh, don't cry. Everything's alright now," he soothed, his hands rubbing her back steadily as he rested his cheek on her hair. "Come, tell me everything."

She nodded shakily as he led her to a bench in the garden, prepared to tell him everything and trusting in his love to see her through this trial.


	2. Chapter 2

**_3 Years Later_**

"Laladadada, laladadada, laladadada-ladada."

"Is that you, Lyddie?"

"Over here, Lizzy!" Lydia called over the shrubbery in the rose garden.

"What are you singing, dearest?"

"Just a little nonsense. Is that a new dress?"

"Yes. I've outgrown all the others," she said with a pat to her burgeoning belly.

"Just a few more months now." Lydia patted her sister's arm affectionately. "Do you think this will be your last one?"

"Not yet twelve years of marriage and I'm on my sixth confinement. I certainly hope it is my last one!"

"Well, dear sister, you know how to put a stop to those pesky confinements," Lydia said with a smirk as she dropped another blossom into her basket.

Elizabeth swatted her arm playfully. "Lydia!" she cried, then couldn't help laughing with her sister. She sighed resignedly. "Don't think I haven't tried before. I just can't seem to hold my resolve," she said with a guilty look on her face.

"I know what you mean. That husband of yours is a cool drink of water." Elizabeth raised a brow. "I wonder that I never noticed him when we were younger. Of course I didn't notice a great many things when I was younger." Lydia's hand surreptitiously moved to her cheek, lightly fingering the scar that had faded into a narrow white line.

"You can hardly see it anymore, you know."

"See what?"

"The scar. You were touching it."

"Was I?"

"I've noticed you do it when your thoughts are far away, in the past."

"I don't want to think about the past. It's a new day. Come Christmas I will have a new niece or nephew to spoil, and according to Kitty's last letter, she is expecting another in February."

"Is she? How wonderful! Will you go to her then?"

"She has asked me to. If you do not need me here, I will attend her. Jane has fully recovered from the girls and no longer requires assistance."

"You know, Lydia, you can live your own life. You don't have go from one sister to the other helping with children and confinements. Jane is nearly four and thirty and after the twins, I doubt she will be having any more children. You know the doctor said he does not believe she could, or should, conceive again. And with any luck, this will be my last." Lydia looked at her skeptically. "Don't give me that look! I am perfectly capable of self-control! Besides, I spoke with the midwife and she has given me some ideas to try. With any luck I will not be doing this again. Besides, it's not like I'm getting any younger!"

"You are only just two and thirty, Lizzy. Jane was three and thirty when she had the twins."

"Do not tease me about twins, Lydia! It is cruel and you know it!"

Lydia appraised her sister with a glint in her eye. "You know, you are looking a little larger than your last confinement. Perhaps there are two. Would you prefer two girls or two boys? Can you have one of each? Is such a thing possible?"

"Lydia!" Elizabeth would have rejoined further had Mrs. Reynolds not come looking for her. "I will speak to you later, Lyddie."

"Yes, sister." Lydia curtseyed mockingly and Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at her before finding the housekeeper on the path.

* * *

"Aunt Lydia?"

"Yes, Jonathon?"

"Why do we call you Aunt Lydia?"

"Because I am your mother's sister. That is what you call the sisters of your parents."

"I know _that_! I mean why do we call you Aunt Lydia and not Aunt Wickham? You call great aunt Gardiner 'Aunt Gardiner', and we don't call Aunt Bennet 'Aunt Mary', Or Aunt Stephenson 'Aunt Kitty'. Why?"

"That's simple. I do not wish to be called Aunt Wickham. In fact, I would like to not be called Mrs. Wickham either, if I could have my way."

"If they didn't call you Mrs. Wickham, what would people call you?" asked nine-year-old Elizabeth.

"They could call me Miss Lydia, or even Miss Bennet."

"But you cannot be Miss Bennet! You would be an old maid!" As soon as she said it, Elizabeth knew she had crossed the line and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Lydia just laughed. "I would not mind so much being an old maid, Elizabeth. There are more things to life than marriage, you know."

"Like what?" asked Jonathon.

"Like friendship, and sisters and brothers and cousins to love and take care of, and nieces and nephews to spoil." She rumpled Jonathon's hair as he squirmed away from her.

"But what about love?" asked Elizabeth.

"Love is a beautiful thing, Betsy. Like your parents, or like Uncle and Aunt Darcy. I am so happy Jane found your father and that Lizzy found Mr. Darcy. But that is love, and unfortunately, not all marriages are based on it, as they ought to be."

"A rather deep topic for the nursery, don't you think?" said a warm voice from the doorway.

"Uncle!"

All at once, four dark haired children were climbing all over the tall, sandy-haired man, their blond cousins staying close to their aunt. "Easy, now! Easy! I'm not as young as I once was!"

The giggling eventually subsided and they dragged him over to their aunt and crowded around him on the settee.

"How was your journey, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Lydia asked.

"Long. And how are you on this hot August day, Mrs. Wickham?"

"She does not like to be called Mrs. Wickham," said Bennet, the eldest and quietest of the Darcy children. Since meeting her three years ago, he had become fiercely protective of his fragile aunt, and with all the discernment of his ten and a half years he set about the task of ensuring her comfort at all times.

"Forgive me. How are you, Miss Lydia?"

"I am well. The children and I were going to walk down to the brook to escape the heat as soon as Michael wakes from his nap. Would you and Sophie care to join us?"

"Sophie is asleep after our journey, I'm afraid, but I would like to accompany you."

Soon they were walking along the banks of the creek in the forest, the three oldest Darcy children and the two oldest Bingleys racing ahead of them, 2 year old Michael clinging to Lydia's hand after he refused to go with his nurse.

"I'm afraid poor Molly has her work cut out for her," said Lydia.

"Yes, I suppose she does," he said, watching the young nurse scramble after the children. "Are all the Bingley children here?"

"Just Elizabeth and Charles. Thomas was too worried about Jane to leave her, and the twins are too young to be away from their parents for so long."

"Has Mrs. Bingley recovered then? Darcy was telling me you expected them in a few days."

"Yes, she is right as rain now. The twins merely took a lot out of her. It was quite difficult, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"I'd rather not, but thank you for the image," he said good humored-ly.

Lydia laughed. "It is truly good to see you again, Colonel."

"And you, Miss Lydia. I must say you are looking rather well."

"Fresh air, good food, and safety seem to be all I needed."

He nodded, understanding completely.

"And you? Are you finally enjoying life on an estate after so many years in the army?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam had given up his commission when his wife was expecting Sophie. He had found it difficult to adapt at first.

"It has its ups and downs. I am only glad it isn't larger. I don't know how Darcy does it. I have no desire to be involved in so many tenant disputes and crop rotations. I just want to enjoy a peaceful life in the country. Excitement is all very good, and when I was younger I craved it, but after so many years at war, I long for the solace of a comfortable home."

"I know exactly what you mean, Colonel. Lizzy tells me it is about the size of Longbourn. That is a nice size." She sighed deeply. "Sometimes I miss Hertfordshire."

"Have you gone back?"

"Since I married you mean?" He nodded. "No. There is no reason to, really. I spend my time between my sisters, and with Lizzy here, and Jane and Kitty in Yorkshire, what is there for me there? My aunt Phillips has passed on and her two sons moved away long before I did. I lost touch with my only real friend there, Maria Lucas, Maria Lawson now. It would feel like a ghost town, I think, with none of my family or friends there any longer."

"Could you not visit the Collinses at Longbourn?"

"I might be able to, but it would be strange to see Longbourn in someone else's hands. Did you know mama wanted Lizzy to marry Mr. Collins?" His eyebrows shot up. "He actually proposed. She turned him down flat. You could almost feel sorry for him if he wasn't so ridiculous. He should have asked Mary – she wouldn't have refused him."

"Is she the one living with an aunt in Oxford?"

"Yes. She never married. I daresay she never will, now. I don't think she ever really wanted to, but she might have been happy with Collins. She would at least have enjoyed being a vicar's wife. He was so blind – he could not see what she was worth underneath her stern exterior." She sighed again. "I suppose I was no better. I didn't really see her either, nor any of my sisters. Not even Kitty, whom I was so close to. Isn't it funny how we see things so clearly after it's too late to do anything about them?"

He looked at her seriously. "Yes, Miss Lydia, it's very funny."

"Oh! I am sorry, Colonel! I did not mean to remind you about Lady Lavinia."

"It's alright. It's been over two years now, I am quite recovered."

"I noticed you are no longer wearing mourning."

"No, it was two years last Easter. I am free to dress as I choose." He smiled without humor. "It is strange to look back on it, though. Sophie was looking at her portrait last week and asking me about her mother. I had a damnable time thinking of what to tell her. Forgive me, Miss Lydia -"

"Do not worry, Colonel. I've heard worse." She smiled wryly and they walked along in silence, following the children.

Four years after Darcy wed Elizabeth Bennet, Colonel Fitzwilliam married Lady Lavinia Harwick, daughter of the Earl of _ and dowered with forty thousand pounds. Three years later, they had a daughter, Sophie. When Sophie was nearly three years old, Lady Lavinia had grown weak, then ill, and finally ended up in a fevered haze, unaware of who she was or who anyone around her was either. She was later found to have an infectious bite, but by the time the source of her illness was discovered, she was too far gone to be saved. Six years after her wedding, she died in her bed at Highgate Manor, taking her unborn child with her and leaving behind a three year old daughter and a grieving husband.

"Have you heard what your sister and my cousin are up to?" asked the colonel.

"Do I want to know?"

"I always think it is best to be prepared in these sorts of situations."

"Oh dear. Then you had better tell me. Michael, run along and throw a stone into the water. Stay close to Molly." She sent him on his way and looked to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"There have been a few additions to the guest list for the ball next month."

"Who?"

"Captain Moore, of the Royal Navy, and Colonel Thompson of the brigadiers."

Lydia groaned. "I have told Lizzy I am not interested in marrying again! And if I were, it would not be to another officer!" she declared exasperatedly. "No offense, Colonel."

"None taken."

"And who do they have for you? If I know my sister, she'll have lined up a few ladies for you to meet."

"You are correct. There is Miss Tatum, too young by far, and Mrs. Blathmore, a widow of eight and twenty. I stopped listening after that."

"Eight and twenty isn't too young."

"Ha! It will be difficult to carry on a conversation with one so young, let alone forge any kind of lasting connection."

"I am not yet seven and twenty, and you are talking quite easily to me."

"You? Seven and twenty? You seem much older!" Lydia smiled. "Forgive me, Miss Lydia, I know that is not the sort of thing a lady wants to hear."

"Normally you would be correct, sir, but in this case I will take it as a compliment."

They walked on in companionable silence until they reached the edge of the wide brook. The children were a few yards away, throwing stones into the water and seeing who could make a bigger splash.

"Perhaps you will get lucky and one of Lizzy's friends will catch your eye and you will fall madly in love." Lydia laughed lightly and Fitzwilliam raised a brow in doubt. "Do you think you will marry again, Colonel?"

"I don't know. Sophie could use a mother, certainly. My sister helps as much as she can, and of course Darcy and Elizabeth are available, but it is not quite the same."

"No, it is not."

He sighed. "Perhaps I will. I am only recently out of mourning, I have time yet. I do not wish to marry just anyone; I do have Sophie to think about now."

"You mustn't wait too long, though. You aren't getting any younger, you know."

He turned to face her and saw the gleam in her eyes and the smirk on her lips. "Why, Miss Lydia, I do believe you are teasing me! You are spending entirely too much time with your sister."

Lydia laughed, clear and easy, not the loud guffaw of years past. "Be careful, Colonel, or I will tell Lizzy you said that. You may find yourself staying in the attics next visit!"

Fitzwilliam threw back his head and laughed, his shoulders shaking with the effort. "She will do no such thing! I have just as many of her secrets in my keeping. Darcy would be quite anxious to know of some of them, I'm sure. And for the record," he looked down at her seriously, "I am _not_ old!"

Lydia laughed again and took his arm as they began walking back toward the house behind the children. "Oh, Colonel, you are a treasure! I shall have to ask Lizzy to invite you to Pemberley more often."

"I am pleased to be a source of entertainment," he replied drolly.

She reached across and squeezed his arm between her hands. "Truly, I am glad you are here, Colonel. And any woman who secures your affection will be lucky indeed."

He reached over and pressed her hand. "Thank you, Miss Lydia."

* * *

**_One Month Later_**

"So what did you think?"

Lydia started out of her reverie. She was having tea in her private sitting room with Elizabeth and Jane the morning after the ball.

"Think about what?" she asked.

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. "About Captain Moore! He seemed quite taken with you."

Lydia shrugged.

"Actually," chimed in Jane, "Colonel Thompson asked me about you."

"Oh, Jane! You did not tell me that!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Yes, he said you had a lovely smile." Jane smiled broadly at Lydia, obviously pleased with her information.

Lydia gave an awkward smile in response. Truthfully, she couldn't quite remember Colonel Thompson. She thought he had blonde hair, but it was possible she was mixing him up with another colonel, one whom she was having a difficult time ridding her thoughts of.

"So what do you think, Lydia?"

"About what?"

"About the gentlemen at the ball, of course!" Elizabeth threw her hands up in the air. "Lydia, you are making me feel like Mama!"

"Shall I fetch your salts, Lizzy?"

Jane giggled behind her hand. "Now girls, we should not speak so of Mama."

"Yes, Jane," they chorused, with only a slightly mocking tone.

Elizabeth looked at Lydia earnestly and took her hand, suddenly serious. "Lydia, I know it is incredibly frightening to marry again. It is incredibly frightening to marry the first time, even without your past experience! But to be married to someone who loves you, and whom you love in return, is a great joy. A joy I do not want you to miss. You are young yet. Younger even than Charlotte was when she married Mr. Collins! You could still be happy. You could have children, God willing. I want a full life for you. I am happy to have you here with me - always if that is your wish – but I do not want your own life to pass you by. I am not suggesting you marry just anyone, or even a conventional courtship. I realize that with your situation, you will need to know the man very well before you could commit to a life with him, as it should be. But if you will not even try, if you will not speak to anyone or even consider them, they will eventually stop seeking your attention. I am afraid that when you decide you do wish to marry again, it will be too late."

Lydia looked at her sisters and saw the earnest expressions in their eyes. She reached out and touched each of their knees. "Thank you, both of you. I know you only want what is best for me and I promise to try to think of the future and not let my fears get the best of me."

Elizabeth smiled. "Good. Now that we've got that sorted, there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

They went on to speak about their sister Catherine and her family, Lydia's mind continually straying to a sandy haired gentleman she had danced with the night before.

* * *

"Did you enjoy the ball, Miss Lydia?"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam! What a pleasant surprise!" She curtseyed and gestured towards a group of chairs nearby. "I had a lovely time. And you? Was my sister successful in finding you a marriageable partner?"

"You teasing woman!" He smiled as he sat across from Lydia in the conservatory. "I did dance with the young Miss Tatum, and it was as I expected."

"Too young to carry on a conversation with a seasoned gentleman such as yourself?"

"Too young by far! We seasoned gentleman prefer more mature company."

Lydia laughed lightly and asked, "Come now Colonel, you can't be that old. Mr. Darcy only turned forty last winter, and you are roughly the same age, are you not?"

"If you must know, I will be forty-two come November."

"Oh, you're right."

"Right about what?"

"You are old."

Lydia could barely contain her laugh and her eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Why you little minx!" He quickly rose and sat beside her, an unexplainable urge to tickle and kiss her into submission taking over him. He was leaning toward her when he came back to himself, and quickly rose and walked to the other side of the room where he pretended to study some sort of dark foliage.

Lydia did not know what to think. She had not teased a man so in years, not since George had shown her how he did not like to be undermined in as swift a manner as possible. But teasing Fitzwilliam had felt so natural, and she was so completely comfortable in his presence, it never occurred to her to be afraid.

Then he had moved toward her and for a moment, a small part of her wondered if he was going to hurt her, but a larger, stronger part knew she was safe, as safe as she would ever be, and welcomed his presence.

Now he had retreated and she did not know what to think. Had she imagined the look of playfulness in his eyes? Was the joy she thought she saw only in her imagination? Perhaps she was seeing what she wanted to see and he had moved about for some reason unconnected to her. After all, how well did she really know the Colonel?

Under the circumstances, she thought it best to change the subject and began talking of the new cuttings she had made and how she was trying to grow a larger vine to take to her sister's home in York.

After another twenty minutes of friendly chatter, she said she would leave to dress for dinner and he offered to escort her. Just before the hall that led to her room, he stopped and turned to her, resting his hand over hers as it lay on his arm.

"Miss Lydia, I hope I have not offended you?"

"Offended me? Of course not, Colonel! How could you possibly offend me?"

"My behavior was not... I am sorry, Miss Lydia. You are a friend and I would not wish to do anything that could harm our friendship."

"It is not harmed, Colonel Fitzwilliam, do not trouble yourself. I am glad we are friends." She looked down self-consciously. "You are the first man I have been comfortable with, besides my brothers, since, well, you know."

"Yes, I know," he said quietly. He looked down at her tenderly, at how her head was tipped to look at her shoes and her eyes were downcast. "Miss Lydia, do you think... do you..."

"Do I think what, sir?" she asked as she looked back at him.

"Do you think you could ever marry again? Truly?"

Her breath caught slightly. "I do not know. If the right man came along, I think I could be persuaded."

"And how would he go about persuading you? With pretty words and fine trinkets?"

"No! I have had enough of words. He would show me, with his actions and his kindness that he was devoted and true and all that is good in a man."

"Do you think this 'right man' will come along?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I believe he will, yes."

"And how will you know him when he does?"

"Quite easily, sir. For he has sandy hair and a kind smile, and the bluest eyes I've ever seen." Fitzwilliam smiled gently at her. "And he is brave, and honest, and a very good friend."

He reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Darling girl. Could you possibly find room in your heart for this old man?"

"I already have," she whispered. She smiled softly as he leaned toward her, and she tipped her chin up in encouragement.

The kiss was sweet and light, but full of promise.

"I have been wanting to do that for a while now," he said.

"Have you?"

"Yes, I have." He looked into her smiling eyes and continued, "Lydia, my dear, sweet friend, would you give me the right to kiss you everyday? Will you marry me, Lydia?"

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him eagerly.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said against her lips.

Lydia just laughed.

* * *

"What about this one?"

"A bayonet from a Frenchie," answered the Colonel as he lay stretched on his back with his hands behind his head.

Lydia ran her fingers gently over a silvery scar under his ribs. "And this one?"

"Training – swords. I was a young Lieutenant and a bit big for my britches. The Colonel put me in my place."

She sniggered softly. "You? Big for your britches? I can't imagine."

"Enough of that woman!" He quickly flipped them over so that she was on her back and he was leaning over her.

Lydia giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. She lifted her head and placed a sweet kiss on his lips before returning her head to the mattress.

He stroked the hair off her forehead lovingly and smiled into her eyes. Slowly, his free hand slid the strap off one shoulder, then the other.

"Where did you get this?" he asked as he traced a finger over a faded pink scar below her left shoulder.

"An empty whiskey bottle," she said quietly.

He made a face – a cross between disbelief and compassion – and kissed the scar lightly. "And here?"

There was a tiny scar, long ago faded white, just above her right breast. "I fell out of a tree when I was six," she said lightly.

He chuckled softly. "And what were you doing in a tree, Miss Lydia? Didn't you know it's unladylike to climb trees?"

"I was following Lizzy."

"Ah, I see. Blame it on the sister, will you?"

She laughed at his expression and kissed his nose lightly. He leaned down and kissed her chin, then nuzzled his face into her neck.

"Mmm. This is how I thought it would be, you know."

"What?" he asked, his voice muffled by her hair.

"Between a man and a woman. Intimacy. Love."

He began nibbling at a sensitive place on her neck. "Are you pleased with your discoveries, my pet?"

"Quite," she said as she released a deep sigh.

**THE END**


End file.
